Through Werewolf Eyes
by PrimaLibrarian
Summary: Remus sits in on a dinner at Grimmauld Place and observes those around him. R&R. One-shot.


A group of ragtag witches and wizards sat amongst themselves in a large, cavernous kitchen. Brightly coloured, with green pipe smoke filling up the air, Lupin's friends and allies put an admirable stop to their sinister surrounds merely by being there. It was perhaps unnoticed to Harry, who walked as though the whole world rested on his shoulders, and Sirius who never seemed to appreciate anything more than a great adventure, but the werewolf was very content with merely being there.

The reasons for everyone's appearance after 14 years were much to be desired. After over a decade of relative peace no one wished to have any sort of mass murderer resurface –especially when you helped get rid of the last one. It had started to take a toll too. Only a couple of months after the Triwizard Tournament and everyone he saw walk through the Grimmauld doors were getting increasingly haggard. No longer were there victorious parties (usually held by the Marauders and Longbottoms) or crazy adventures. The werewolf may not have joined in most of the time, but he knew a difference when he saw one.

With that he looked to his left and saw his old Hogwarts buddy Sirius. For a second there was a shadow of recklessness in his eyes, an excitement crossing his face when he talked to Harry or quick reach for his wand every time someone spoke out of turn about James. No, as he glanced over now curtains of tangled black hair fell dangerously close to his glass as he started deep inside the liquid. Bony hands gripped the edged tight, his ragged fingernails creating minute scratches. He was struggling to keep is calm about something only Sirius knew. Dementors; they never seem to left you.

Ironically enough Remus saw the exact same behaviour in Snape, both in Hogwarts when they had both been professors, as well as Order meetings. They were hidden well, having been maintained in society rather than the dank cells of Azkaban, but the look in his eye as he talked about the 'Dark Lord' spoke volumes of his frustration and desperation, hands gripping tightly on the back of his chair. Remus caught him vigorously washing his hands once in the bathroom sink, the skin already raw from the heat of the water. They looked at each other in the enchanted mirror and with a nod went out of each other's way. He thought briefly to talk to the Potions Master, offer support, but an image of the angered and hurt Severus in fifth year told him not to.

He shook his head and went back to the present. Molly handed out more Butterbeer for people and set a basket of chocolate in the middle of the table. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the seams of her robes were fraying from neglect. She seemed to have a permanent twitch, making sure that all of her children were accounted for. Fred and George were unconcerned with the current events, but both Ron and Ginny had a Weasley-scowl imprinted on their face. It hadn't been there 2 years ago.

What struck him as the most fascinating however was Harry. Not because he was the son of Remus' best friend, or that he had been deemed a chosen one, but rather his own way of dealing with things. The ex-Professor had never known him to talk very much, staying in the background as Hermione and Ron fought, or huddling as a teacher bore down on his with disapproval. Now it was even less so. Beyond the yelling match on the first day he got back from the Muggle world he contributed to conversations when asked but otherwise sat and watched others. His shoulders remained hunched, exhausted. Snape continued to insult the boy both in front of him and behind his back, but for an attitude that had long disappeared. Although he maintained Gryffindor bravado and ear-splitting anger, he kept none of the ignorance or defiance he once had. Remus was also fairly sure it had something to do with the Muggles that looked after him. 

Someone remembered to stoke the fireplace. Warm spread throughout his body. His toes tingled in appreciation. For how long has he been used to the cold? Can he even remember a decent house he lived in before this one? For that he was grateful.


End file.
